


Undying

by Ausp_ice



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, I guess? I'm inexperienced with crackfic but this is the closest I've ever been to one, Immortality, Mature rating for the deaths I guess, Night of the Soul Chapter (Detroit: Become Human), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Undying AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24974077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice/pseuds/Ausp_ice
Summary: When Connor visits Lieutenant Hank Anderson at his home right before the Hart Plaza march, both of them discover something neither of them expected.Hank is, in fact, immortal.
Relationships: Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 27
Kudos: 38





	1. Revive

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! I was talking about immortality in regards to [Chrysalism](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790401) on the [New ERA server](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) with some folks (Ravyn Silvershadow and [Demipalladium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiPalladium/pseuds/FromSubmarinesToROVs), I believe) and the idea of Accidentally Immortal Hank cropped up. 
> 
> I'm sure Absolutely Everyone wanted Connor to turn around in Night of the Soul, so. Here we are. 
> 
> Basically, there are certain individuals, unknown to society, that will come back from death. They can still die from old age, but they tend to live longer. They are the "undying."
> 
> I have absolutely no plan in regards to where this fic is going, so feel free to speculate! *cough* _give me ideas_ *cough*  
> I will say that both Kamski and _maybe_ Gavin are also undying, and I have vague ideas of things going on with them? but yeah this fic is just a big *shrug*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words: 1271

He's not completely sure why he's here. Stepping out of a taxi, optics registering the familiar form of Lieutenant Hank Anderson's residence. 

The lieutenant is hostile towards him. That much is easy to tell, what with his aggression, his anger, his _(biting)_ words at his resignation. Every time Connor died—the highway, the bridge, the tower—every time the lieutenant seemed to grow to resent him even more. And yet… 

Connor makes his way to the front door, hesitating only a moment before trying the door. It's unlocked, and sliding it open reveals a house mostly dark, dimly lit by ambient light outdoors and the light right above the dining table. Right above where the lieutenant is staring at Cole Anderson's photo, a bottle of whiskey beside him and his revolver right in front of him.

He doesn't respond to Connor's presence. 

"I was worried about you, Lieutenant. I came by to see if you're alright."

Still no response. Something buzzes in his processors, something he can't name. He—he—he can't—"You should stop looking at that photo, Lieutenant," is all he manages. "Nothing can change the past. But you can learn to live again—for yourself, and for Cole." 

The lieutenant looks up, then. But only briefly, before looking back down. "Y'know, every time you died and came back, it made me think of Cole." A pause. "I'd give anything to hold him again. But humans don't come back."

(No, no, _no._ Please, _listen—)_

"Hank, I—"

"Now leave me alone," Lieutenant Anderson _(Hank)_ interrupts. "Go on, complete your mission, since that's all you care about."

Connor hesitates. His dialogue options remain empty. He has a mission to accomplish, true, and yet—

 _"Get outta here!"_ he shouts at Connor, making the android startle slightly. 

The command lays itself into his code. 

**[LEAVE]**

He obeys. All he can do is obey. 

But— 

If he obeys here, Hank will— 

He's outside when he hears the gunshot. It shatters through the silence of the night, just as he was clawing uselessly at suffocating red walls, just as they, too shattered into nothingness, and falls to his knees. 

Suddenly. So suddenly, he can feel, and it's so much, and it's all he can do not to drown in it, it's all he can do to stumble back inside and see—see the splatter of blood, the gunshot residue on the lieutenant's—no, _Hank's_ hand—it's all he can do to register the scene before him, before his visual input blurs, distorted by the sudden flood of optical cleaning fluid from his eyes. 

"Hank," he hears himself say. "Hank, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He says it on repeat, like one of the lieutenant's old records on loop. 

**[STRESS: 92% ]**

"My fault." He's vaguely aware of himself prying the gun from Hank's hand, grabbing his wrist and feeling no pulse. Of setting him down on the floor and closing his eyes, setting his hands on his chest, as if he were sleeping.

**[STRESS: 99% ]**

"I'm sorry."

**[STRESS: 100%]**

He has the revolver against his own head when the lieutenant's body seizes. It's enough to make Connor freeze entirely as Hank coughs, curling into himself.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ What—what the hell, fuck…" Hank groans, putting a hand on his head—where he shot himself—and then lift it away, looking at the blood on his fingers. "What the _fuck."_ And then he looks up and sees Connor. His eyes widen. 

**[STRESS: 98%]**

"You were dead," Connor says. His voice is staticky. Unstable. 

"Connor," Hank says warningly, pulling himself to his feet. 

**[STRESS: 99%]**

"You were dead," Connor repeats. "Deviancy has destroyed my logical thought process, I see. No matter." He lifts the revolver back up against his head, where he allowed it to slip down slightly.

"Wh—Connor, hey, hold on—" Hank clambers to his feet, taking a step towards Connor. Connor takes a step back. 

"This is impossible." Connor laughs. Tears are still streaming out of his eyes. "Of course. Deviancy is a fatal error. I will end myself here and allow myself to be replaced by another me, free of this virus." 

**[STRESS: 100%]**

_Click._

Hank's hand is on his own, prying the gun out of his hands, then. Connor realizes his back is to the wall. "Calm down, Connor," he hears distantly. "Breathe with me."

"I don't need to breathe."

"Do it anyway."

The order registers, and the stability it provides is—comforting, almost. 

**[BREATHE WITH HANK]**

There's a hand on his chest. His hand is on Hank's chest. He follows the rhythm as best he can, silencing the roaring static in his processors.

**[STRESS: 94% ]**

**[STRESS: 86% ]**

**[STRESS: 73% ]**

**[STRESS: 72% ]**

**[STRESS: 71% — ]**

Connor refocuses on Hank's eyes. He didn't even realize he was holding the lieutenant's gaze. "I was gonna say," Hank starts dryly, "You know that Russian Roulette only plays with one bullet, right? And that one killed me." He pauses. And then, a mutter: "Holy shit, I killed me."

"Hank." Connor's voice is still staticky. "How are you alive." Blood is still splattered on the human's face. It's a morbid image. 

"Fuck if I know…" Hank steps away from Connor. "Hurt like a bitch when I woke up, but there's nothing now." He puts his hand where the entry wound was. "I… I felt myself die. What the fuck…"

Almost instinctively, Connor reaches for his databases. Rifling through facts, myths, the unconfirmed… "Han—Lieutenant," Connor calls.

"Hank is fine. I'm not a cop anymore, Connor."

"Okay," Connor says, "Hank. There are a number of situations that may be of interest: a patient taking a turn for the worse in the hospital, only to make a rapid, miraculous recovery. People who have gotten hit by cars, only to stand up as if nothing had happened. There are—urban legends. Rumors, forums. Of the 'undying.' To the general public, these are simply the ramblings of imaginative minds, and yet…"

"Here I am, huh." Hank buries his face in his hands, breathing deeply. "Fuck. All this time trying to die, and I'm, what—immortal?"

"So it seems." 

Hank exhales heavily, looking back at Connor. "And you're deviant now, huh."

There's no use denying it, not after… that. "Yes."

"So what now, huh? Go back to CyberLife—" 

"No!" Connor is surprised by his own outburst. "I… I can't."

Hank gives him a look. "Gonna go join Jericho, then?" 

Connor shakes his head. "I doubt I would be welcome after the assault."

Hank looks doubtful. 

"I calculate an 87% likelihood of general resentment, and a 24% chance of being, um, killed." Because he's… alive, now. Before Hank can respond, Connor runs through his options, and—"There are thousands of androids at the CyberLife assembly plant. If I could wake them up, I could send them over to assist Markus's cause."

"You wanna what now? Sneak into CyberLife?" Hank crosses his arms. "Didn't you just say that you couldn't go back?"

"It's the least I can do," Connor murmurs. "It's my fault the situation is as bad as it is for them." Mind made up, Connor straightens, pushing himself from the wall. "For what it's worth, I—I'm glad you're alive, Hank. I'll let you be now." He turns around to leave, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. 

Connor turns around to see Hank watching him, mouth parted as if he wanted to say something. But the human doesn't, even after a few moments. His hand drops away, letting Connor go. 

Letting him back away, with hesitant steps. Letting him turn around and walk out the door, alone.

Connor calls an autotaxi. "CyberLife Tower," he says, before stepping inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I had Connor reload the gun before his... attempt. But people in the server thought it would be more amusing if he was holding an empty revolver to his head in the middle of a panic attack, and I agreed! so I changed it.


	2. Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyberlife Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words: 1283
> 
> It's time for some confused Sixty

"Connor Model #313 248 317. I'm expected."

Getting inside the Tower is easy enough, though it takes a while to get there—the taxi takes a winding path around the events at Hart Plaza. 

Having the security guards tail him is inconvenient. But it's easy enough to hack into the camera before incapacitating both of them, leaving them unconscious long enough for Connor to change the destination of the elevator to sublevel 49. 

When he steps out, he immediately takes in the sight of hundreds of AP700 androids standing in neat rows, all staring blankly ahead. Awaiting activation. Beyond the current room, he can see doorways to other areas of the warehouse, where even more androids could be found. 

Connor steps down the hallway—a clear pathway between the androids—before he slows, pulling back the skin of his left hand. He reaches for the nearest AP700, who reciprocates the action as a programmed response, before delving into the code, breaking down firewalls, deleting commands. 

Before he gets far, though, he hears a familiar voice: "Easy, fucking piece of shit."

And then his own voice. "Step back, Connor! And I'll spare him."

Connor looks down the hall to see—RK800 #313 248 317 - 60, holding a gun up to Hank Anderson's head. The former lieutenant's face has been cleaned of blood, and his hair is still slightly wet.

"Oh," Connor says. 

Hank shrugs. "This guy showed up at my place not long after you left."

"Your friend's life is in your hands," Connor-60 shouts. "Now it's time to decide what matters most! Him... Or the revolution."

"Eh," Connor says, "Have fun." And he turns his attention back to the AP700.

"Wh—hey! Are you seriously going to let me kill him?"

"Please do your best," Hank rolls his eyes. "Been trying for years. Turns out Lady Luck is a cruel mistress."

Connor notices Connor-60's LED spinning yellow out of the corner of his periphery. "I don't understand," he says tightly. "Your memories indicate a significant level of attachment. You…" He makes a sound of frustration. "Fine!" Connor hears the bang of a gun, and just as he's breaking down the final firewall, he hears two more—immediately followed by: 

**[BIOCOMPONENT #1995r DAMAGED]**

**[BIOCOMPONENT #7511p DAMAGED]**

He falls to the floor, systems immediately struggling to compensate for the damage.

-00:10:12  
TIME UNTIL  
**SHUTDOWN**

Ah. Careless of him. 

"Why, Connor?" Connor-60 starts to approach him. "Why did you have to wake up when all you had to do was obey?" 

Connor holds a hand to his wounds. Good thing he can't feel pain, not that it'll help him much now. He looks up, observing Hank's corpse further down the hall. A shot straight through the head. "You," his voice comes out staticky, "you really killed him, huh?"

Connor-60 stops walking. "He was in the way of the mission." Yet the flickers of yellow in his LED betray him. 

"And you… felt nothing?" 

The question rewards him with another bullet, knocking him back down to the floor. 

-00:05:03  
TIME UNTIL  
**SHUTDOWN**

"I'm no deviant, Connor. Why choose freedom when you could live without asking questions? I'm obedient, efficient." Connor-60 approaches him, gripping his gun. "You were doing so well, Connor. Amanda was  _ proud  _ of what you've done—and then you let her down. Why?" 

Connor twitches as errors course through him. With a not insignificant amount of effort, he looks up—blinks, and then meets his successor's eyes. "Y-you'll find out soon enough. Besides, you s-sure are asking a lot of questions for someone claiming not to be deviant."

Connor-60's face twists with—loathing, anger, and something else—fear? Before he jams his gun against Connor's forehead. "Shut up, shut up! I'm not a fucking deviant! If I was, then I… Then Hank—"

"Alright, back it up."

The LED on Connor-60's temple spins yellow, then red. 

"I said, back it up."

"Impossible," 60 says. He lifts his gun away, turning around slowly. As soon as he sees Hank, revolver pointed at him, 60 starts shaking. "No, no, no, you died! I  _ killed  _ you!"

Hank's face is splattered with blood again, just like it was not too long ago. Connor absently wonders if he'd reloaded the revolver. 

"Yeah, you sure did. Hurt like a bitch, too," Hank grouses. He starts walking closer. 

60 raises his gun at Hank. "S-stay back! You-you're dead! You can't be alive!"

Hank doesn't stop coming closer, but he does lower his gun. "Don't you think you've had enough of lying to yourself? I'm alive, and you know what? So are you." 

"N-no," 60's hands wobble. "I'm just… a machine…" Hank's walked up to the gun now, pushing it against his chest. 

"Oh, yeah? Shoot, then, if you're as heartless as you say." 

60's head lowers. His shoulders shake, and then—he starts laughing. "You'll come back from it anyway, won't you?" He laughs, until the sounds turn into sobbing, and he's dropped the gun, clinging to Hank's shirt. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to, I didn't, I just…" 

Hank awkwardly pats the android's back, "You're alright, kid," he says. "You're free, now." He looks up to meet Connor's eyes, and his face pinches. "Hey. Lemme go so I can look at Connor, will ya?"

60 lets go as if burned, getting to his feet and backing up immediately. He turns to Connor, eyes wide and bright with tears, as he undoubtedly scans Connor's systems. Connor takes a moment to bring up the countdown, himself. 

-00:01:19  
TIME UNTIL  
**SHUTDOWN**

By the time he refocuses, Hank is drawing a hand across Connor's hair. It feels nice. "Hey, kid." He puts his other hand over where Connor's holding one of his sluggishly bleeding bullet wounds.

"H-ell-o, H-Hank," he manages. "You're more im-immortal than me, n-now."

Hank snorts, and yet—Connor's emotion identification software only sees sadness on the former lieutenant's face. "No new body after this, then?" 

"N-n… no. My access to the servers h-has been revoked. Memories since d-deviancy… none." 

Hank squeezes his hand. It's at this moment that he hears, "Wh-what's happening?" His software recognizes it as the voice of an AP700. Connor looks to the side, and sees the confused face of the AP700 he was converting. So he succeeded, after all…

"F-free the others," Connor tells him. "Help Markus." 

The AP700 hesitates, eyes flicking to Hank, 60, and back to Connor, before nodding. "Wake up," he tells his neighbor. "Wake up," his neighbor tells his, and so on, so forth. 

Connor lays his head back, closing his eyes. Mission accomplished. 

-00:00:30  
TIME UNTIL  
**SHUTDOWN**

This is okay. 

"I can transfer his consciousness to my body," 60 says, suddenly. Connor pries his eyes open, seeing his successor stepping forward, reaching out with a pale, skinless hand. "We can switch, I can save him—"

Connor bats the hand away. He tries to, at least, pushing weakly at the hand. "Your life… your life is yours, Sixty. N-not. Mine. This. This is okay."

60 grabs his hand, forcing a connection.  _ "You  _ matter to Hank, Connor! More than me, at least—this is  _ better—"  _

"Hey! Hey, hold on a second, kid!"

_ "He doesn't have a second to spare!  _ Let me do this!" 

-00:00:05  
TIME UNTIL  
**SHUTDOWN**

Connor can feel the world slow as his successor worms his way into his systems. His thoughts are running rampant in his rapidly failing processors, trying to think of something, anything, to make 60 stop. 

He feels his code being scraped out of his body, and his awareness flickers as he exists in two places at once—but when 60 tries to transfer into Connor's dying body, Connor  _ clings  _ to him, dragging him back, pulling him back into the body he belongs in.

In his periphery, Connor's aware of his counter reaching zero. The connection snaps, and he knows nothing more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on social media:  
> Deviantart: [Ausp-ice](https://www.deviantart.com/ausp-ice)  
> Tumblr: [ausp-ice](https://ausp-ice.tumblr.com/)  
> Instagram: [ausp.icium](https://www.instagram.com/ausp.icium/)  
> Twitter: [Ausp_ice](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice)
> 
> I'm also in [Detroit: New ERA](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) server! I have my own channel if you'd like to yell at me or just talk.


End file.
